


Two Truths And a Lie

by Harleydoll



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - Fandom
Genre: Backstory, Canon Relationship, Developing Relationship, F/M, Het, Injury, Mental Illness, Post-Canon, Unrequited Love, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-11
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harleydoll/pseuds/Harleydoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-Dark Knight at Arkham Asylum. The story of how The Joker and Harley meet in this `verse. Mental disorder (I don't like the term "illness"), violence, possible bloodplay if you squint, but mostly its just dark, gritty, and I suppose romantic (from Harley's perspective), and features only as much Batman as is necessary to move the plot forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Safest Place to Hide is In Sanity

“Dr. Quinzel? Your 2:30 is here.” 

“Send him in.” Dr. Harleen Quinzel pulled her shoulder length blonde hair back into a loose ponytail and closed the file she had been perusing, looking up just as two orderlies ushered the newest addition to Arkham Asylum into the sparse meeting room. His eyes seemed to sparkle mischievously, heavily rimmed in black over a white grease paint foundation, as he gave her the once over and sat in the chair opposite. Apparently satisfied, he produced a wide grin that seemed to tax his scars, still visible underneath a crudely painted and clownish smile. Harleen wondered briefly how he'd been allowed to keep his makeup, ad she made a mental note to ask about it later. 

“Hello, doc-tor.” Joker enunciated every syllable carefully, slurring slightly as he ran his tongue over his upper lip. Harleen shivered. His voice sounded like a mixture of nails on a chalkboard and a car driving over broken glass. So coarse, yet somewhat alluring. 

_Stop it,_ she chided herself. _We have a job to do_. She cleared her throat. “You can go,” she addressed the orderlies. “And take his straitjacket with you.” 

Both orderlies stared at her. “But we have strict instructions to--”

“I don't care. Take it off,” Harleen ordered. 

“Ooh, doctor, I get all tingly when you take control like that,” Joker sat still as one orderly stepped forward and began undoing the buckles of the jacket. “But shouldn't we get to know each other a little better before you start undressing me?”

The orderly finished removing Joker's straitjacket and stood around awkwardly. “I don't know that this is the best idea,” he said finally. 

“You can go,” Joker mocked Harleen's previous sentiment. “We don't need a babysitter.” 

“I know what I'm doing,” Harleen said. “Now, please, you're cutting into my session time.” The orderly nodded and left, slamming the door shut behind him. 

“Just for the record, I don't think that was the best idea either,” The Joker noted. 

“All relationships are built on trust,” Harleen replied. “I trust you not to lash out and kill me at the first opportunity, and you trust me to do my job as your doctor.” 

“Only the _first_ opportunity?” 

Harleen ignored his comment. “I thought we’d start with a simple exercise to, as you so aptly suggested, help me get to know you better. I’ll ask you a series of questions, and if you don’t have an answer, you can pass. Understand?” 

He continued to grin, but remained silent. Harleen took that as her cue to begin. 

“What’s your name?”

“Uh, pass.” When she frowned at him, he shrugged. “How should I know?” 

Harleen sighed. “Fine. How about your age?”

“Pass.”

“Birthdate?” she tried again. 

“Pass.” Harleen frowned again, and the Joker exhaled loudly. “Fine, fine. It, ah, it depends on my mood.” 

“Are you going to answer my questions properly?”

“Only if you ask the right questions,” he smacked his lips together and smirked. 

“Would you please be serious? I’d like to make this as painless as possible for both of us.” 

“Oh, I’m always serious, Harleen. Can I call you Harleen? Har-leen Quin-zel...” he trailed off, seemingly deep in thought. “Do you have paper?” he asked suddenly. “And, uh, a pen?”

Harleen acquiesced, and the Joker grabbed both items eagerly before getting out of the chair and sitting cross-legged on the floor. 

“Can I ask what you’re doing?” Harleen asked, but he waved her away. “I’ll continue with my questions then.” She paused. “Sexual orientation?” 

He looked up from his work and stared hard at her for a moment before returning his attention to the notepad. “That’s not on your sheet.”

“Well, maybe I’m just curious,” Harleen replied boldly.

“Ah. Ha. Well then, seeing as we’re being so _deliciously_ honest with each other, I suppose I’ll, uh, give you an answer.” He paused and glanced up at her. “Uh, pass.” 

There was an awkward silence, and then he began to laugh. Harleen smiled in spite of herself. Of course. 

“Why did they allow you to keep your face paint?” she asked. 

“They didn't. But people are willing to trade all sorts of things in here for the right collateral.”

“And what collateral did you provide? You came in here with nothing.” 

“We all come in here with nothing except our bodies and the air in our lungs,” he replied, smirking. “It's amazing what people are willing to give to keep both intact.” 

“And what are you willing to give up, Joker?” 

“Ah, now we're getting somewhere.” He pushed the pad of paper away fiddled with the pen in his hands. “Like you said, Harleen, I have nothing to give. My life is worth absolutely nothing, nada, zip. And apparently, neither is yours.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because you're alone in a room with Arkham's favourite homicidal clown, sans straitjacket and security, and you've given him a weapon.” He waved then pen at her as he spoke. “So either you have a death wish, or, like me, you believe in one single truth.” 

“What's that?” 

Joker smacked his lips together and very deliberately set the pen on the floor next to him. “It's not what you have, but what you do that matters.” 

“I--” the timer buzzed loudly, interrupting Harleen's response. “Time’s up,” she said instead. She stood reluctantly and knocked on the door to signal the orderlies, who entered and promptly strapped the Joker back into his straitjacket. She watched unabashedly as he stood up, leaving the pad of paper and pen on the floor, and sauntered towards the door, As he was escorted out the door, he turned back to Harleen and grinned. 

“See you tomorrow, Doc.” 

After she was sure he was gone, Harleen got up from her desk and retrieved the pad of paper from the floor. She flipped to the page he had been working on and gasped in surprise. 

HarLeen QUINZEL   
HARLE/QUIN  
HARLEY QUINN

~~~

The next day, the Joker entered Harleen’s office and once again sat cross-legged on the floor. Harleen smiled inwardly, and, moving the chair to one side, sat down on the floor across from him. She held up the notepad from the previous session. 

“Tell me about this.”

“A name is a powerful thing, Doc-tor. It’s almost as good as killing you, which of course is not the most convenient option at the moment.” 

“Excuse me?”

He sighed. “In their last moments, people show you who they really are. But obviously I’m not going to kill you, so a name is the next best thing,” he explained, as if speaking to a child. “’Know thine enemy’ and all that.” 

“You consider me your enemy?”

“No, I consider Arkham my enemy. You being part of Arkham.” 

“Fair enough,” Harleen conceded. “So, are you planning on killing me in the near future?

“Uh, pass.”

Harleen laughed. “Yes, I think we’ve pretty much ascertained that my attempt at a simple Q&amp;A was a complete failure. But I still need to know what’s going on in that head of yours. So tell me about this ‘Harley Quinn’. Where did you come up with it?” 

“It’s your name. You tell me.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“But it will be.” He smacked his lips together and grinned at her. “See, somewhere deep down in there—” he gestured at her chest “—you don’t want to be here any more than I do. You want to get out, but you’re afraid.”

“I believe it’s my job to analyze you, not the other way around.” Harleen shifted uncomfortably on the floor. 

“You’re afraid of losing sta-bility, see-curity,” he continued, ignoring her remark. “See, these people, this city, it’s all just one giant puzzle. All the pieces have a place, but some of them look so similar that you get fed up and try to just squish them in wherever they might fit, instead of where they actually do.” He pressed his thumb into the edge of the desk to demonstrate. “Sometimes you just have to make it work. And that’s what all these people are doing. Fitting in as best they can to make it work, because they’re afraid of the consequences if they don’t.”

“And what about you? You’ve obviously stopped pretending,” Harleen said. Joker smacked his lips together and extended his index finger towards her. 

“I was, ah, getting to that,” He replied. “See, sometimes when you buy these puzzles, at a garage sale or a second-hand store, or somewhere else not quite legitimate, you find pieces from other puzzles inside. And try as you might, you just can’t fit them into the original puzzle. That’s what we are. You, me, the, ah, Bat-Man, we were all thrown into the wrong box. And you know what we all have in common? We’re all trying to fix things.”

Harleen leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Fix things how?”

“Well there’s you, Doc-tor, who’s just trying to make all the pieces fit into the puzzle. Even the ones that didn’t even belong to this box in the first place. And the Bat-Man, he, ah-ha, he thinks he can dress up as a flying rodent and help keep the peace for all the little people who are just trying to make it work. He makes sure they never have to understand, to see past their given roles.”

“And what about you?” she asked cautiously.

Joker laughed. “Me? I’m just trying to show Gotham its true face. Reshuffle the little puzzle pieces and show them that the established order is a sham. Dump those stupid water lilies on the floor and let the pieces put themselves back together. And you could be doing the same, Harley-doll. All you need is someone to pry you out and show you that there is more to life than playing by the rules.”

“Is that what you're trying to do now?” 

“That depends. Have you been paying attention?” 

“What exactly is it you want from me?” Harleen demanded. “Do you want me to admit that you're right? That my life, my career, meeting you, it was all just part of some plan to break out of the stupid square I was taught to stand in and behave like everyone else?” 

“Well,” he said, running his tongue along his lower lip thoughtfully, “It's a start.” 

She took off her glasses and put her head in her hands. “This is so unprofessional of me. It’s all just some cruel joke, isn’t it?” She glanced up and met his eyes. “They sent you to test me. To mess with the new girl’s head and see if she could take it.”

The Joker leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. “Harley. Doll. Reality. Is one. Big. Joke.” He leaned back again. “Never touch the stuff myself, you understand. I find it gets in the way of the hallucinations.” 

Harleen opened her mouth to respond, but once again was interrupted by the timer going off. 

“I guess...our time is up,” she said. They stood up off the floor simultaneously and he nodded to her. “Same time tomorrow, then?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and shuffled out the door, where the orderlies stopped him and slipped him back into a straijacket before carting him down the hall. Harleen watched him leave before slumping back down to the floor and collecting her notepad and file folders. 

“Hey.” Dr. Pamela Isley, Harleen’s best friend, stood in the doorway. She worked as a botanist in the greenhouse and research laboratories across the street. “Are we still on for lunch?” 

Harleen stood and dropped the papers on her desk. “Yeah. Umm....yeah.” 

Pamela frowned. “Are you alright?”

“Of course,” Harleen replied quickly. “Let’s go.”


	2. Two Truths and A Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker is delighted as Harleen's dissociative identity disorder surfaces, but even he is unprepared for what happens next.

Over the next two weeks, Harleen didn't record a word the Joker said. The case file she put together was vague; she was careful to provide only the most basic sketch of his character. Anything she wrote beyond that would only scratch the surface anyway. He told her stories—yes, stories, because she was certain none of it was true. Some days he had grown up with an abusive alcoholic father, others he grew up on the streets. On Tuesday, his mother was a prostitute, on Wednesday she flirted with the monster. By Thursday he didn't have parents at all and grew up with his uncle in the suburbs, where no one ever talked about what happened behind closed doors. She never asked him for the truth, not only because she knew he wouldn't give it to her, but also because she had determined early on that imagination was the key to understanding such an enigmatic figure. She also knew that if she entertained his tales long enough, he might reward her with something more substantial.

Harleen's patience finally paid off almost three weeks after their first session. Instead of his customary "Did I ever tell you how I got these scars?", the Joker stared at her for a moment before saying, "You know, all of these people in here, they aren't _real people_. They live in their little bubbles of false pretences and broken dreams and the knowledge that every day is _exactly the same as the last_. And do you also know, Harley-doll, what I call that?" He leaned forward. "I call it _pathetic_."

Harleen stared back at him unflinchingly. "You refer to the people 'in here'. Do you mean in Arkham?"

"I me-ean Gotham, Harley. But you already knew that. I can see it in your eyes." He sat back in the chair. "Took you long enough to get here, but I suppose I can't really complain. Rehabilitation can be a long process. But I've been patient. And so have you."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because it's your name, of course. I can see it in your eyes," he repeated. "You can hear me, but that's not the issue here. The point is, you've started to _listen_."

"I've always listened to you, Joker," Harleen said. _And so have I_. She shuddered, but still did not break eye contact.

"You can hear her now, can't you?" He smiled humourlessly.

_Oh, yeah. Loud and clear. And while I've got the upper hand, tell him I'm sick of his multiple choice sob stories. Wanna bet he grew up in a nice house with a nice family and the sheer normalcy of it is what drove him mad?_

Harleen giggled. "I...she...your stories are ridiculous and it's probably the fact that your life was too normal that drove you insane," she blurted.

"Oh, really? Well, Harley, maybe you're right. Who knows?" He shrugged. "I certainly don't. But do you want to know what I do know?"

"Always."

"I know that the lies you tell yourself in order to get through the day are more real to you than the truth that spawned them. See, we're more alike than you realize, you and I. Peas in a _pod_." He held up two fingers briefly and laughed. "Or, to be more precise, two truths and a _lie_."  
Harleen just stared as he licked his lips and stood up. "I believe that's all the time we have today, doc-tor," he drawled, nodding towards the timer. As if on cue, one of the new orderlies (was it Dan? or maybe Dick?) knocked on the office door before poking his head in the room. "Time to go, Joker."

Harleen stood as well and as the Joker brushed by her she felt a shiver run down her spine. _This isn't over_, something inside her whispered. To her surprise, the Joker turned back to face her with a sly smile.

"You got that right, doc-tor."

_Okay, either he's a mind-reader or I'm going insane._

_I vote insane_, the voice whispered back.

Harleen shivered again and closed the door as the Joker and the orderly left. When she sat down at her desk, she realized that, once again, she hadn't written a thing.

~~~

The next day, The Joker surprised her yet again. Harleen had been staring at his nearly empty case file for the past half hour, willing herself to write something, _anything_, down. She looked up as he sat down across from her and quickly closed the empty folder. He waited until she had cleared off her desk and met his eyes, his gaze raptly following her every movement, before speaking.

"So, I'm, ah, leaving. Tomorrow."

Harleen dug her nails into her thigh through her neatly pressed black pencil skirt and calmly replied, "You haven't been released yet."

"I didn't say I was doing it legally."

"Why are you telling me this? I'm the enemy, remember?"

"If you know beforehand, you can leave early for your weekly lunch date with Poi-uh, Miss Isley," he replied, smirking.

"So I'm supposed to believe that you're telling me this out of the goodness of your heart."

"Uh, yeah."

Harleen looked down at her lap, unable to speak. He was leaving her, and there was nothing she could do about it. Unless...

"Take me with you," she demanded boldly.

"Uh, pardon me?"

"Take me with you, _please_," she tried again.

"Ah...no."

"Why not? I can help you. I want to be with you."

At this, the Joker laughed, loud and long, smearing his makeup as he wiped the tears from his eyes. Harleen watched him in silence, chewing on her lower lip as she waited for him to say something.

"Ahaha. That's funny," he grinned widely and wagged his finger at her. "You're good, you know that? Real good. But I'm better. No," he continued, smacking his lips together, "you don't want me. You want a way out, but you don't think you can do it on your own."

"I know what I want, and it's you."

"If you want to get out of here, you can do it when I'm gone."

"You don't understand. You're the only thing that's keeping me here. Take me with you!" she pleaded, desperation slipping into her voice.

"No."

"I know exactly what I want," Harleen repeated.

"No, you uh, you don't."

"It's you."

"No it's not. I'm not. Will you stop saying that? You can't mean—"

"Why not? Why can't I mean it?"

The Joker stood up suddenly, knocking the chair down behind him. "Because!" He grabbed her by the arms and slammed her up against a wall, his face barely inches from hers.

"Because why?" Harleen demanded unflinchingly.

"Because _no one_ wants me!" he snarled. He tossed her to the floor like a rag doll before turning and striding out of the room. __

"I do," Harleen whispered. She exhaled and sat up. So much for the direct approach.


	3. 99 Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley struggles to come to terms with the Joker's inevitable escape from Arkham.

_He's probably already gone, you know._

"I know," Harleen sighed. At precisely 2:22 pm, the emergency alarm had gone off, signalling a building-wide security breach. The Joker hadn't just let himself out; he'd unleashed all of Arkham as a distraction. Now, ten minutes, later, Harleen was still staring at the clock on the wall, willing him to show up for that 2:30 appointment and say he'd changed his mind about her.

_Not gonna happen, love._

She stood resignedly and exited the office, locking the door behind her.

"You're right," she said aloud, heading for the stairs. The elevator was obviously not the best option right now. "Might as well go for that early lunch with Pa—aaaaah!" Harleen was suddenly yanked back by her ponytail, causing her to fall into her assailant in a rather ungraceful manner.

"You didn't really think you could get rid of me that easily, did you, Harley-doll?" The Joker spun her around and stared into her eyes.

"Does...does this mean you've changed your mind?" Harley asked.

"No. It means I like to have a backup plan. Just in case." He turned and strode towards the stairs, dragging Harley by the wrist behind him.

"What do you mean, a backup plan?" she demanded, kicking off her heels as she struggled to keep up with him. "Are you saying I'm a hostage?"

"Something like that, yeah," the Joker replied without glancing back. "Didn't I ever tell you that you ask too many questions?"

Harley took that as her cue to shut up and followed him down the stairs in silence. They shuffled past the games room, where orderlies were making futile attempts to apprehend the schizophrenics and their imaginary friends, the cafeteria where the bipolar patients had turned a simple food fight into an all-out war and the obsessive-compulsives had committed themselves to organizing neat lines of broken dish pieces by size, and finally through the reception area where the multiple personalities were taking turns answering neighbours' complaints of excessive noise. When they reached the doors, The Joker spun around to face her with a grin.

"See you on the other side, Harley-doll."

"What do you think you're doing?" Harley demanded.

"Uh, walking out the front door?"

"Well then so am I!"

The Joker sighed. "Look, I only dragged you along in case security somehow managed to beat me here. Apparently no one's even called the police yet. Ergo, _I don't need you anymore_." And with that, the Joker, grabbed Harley by the back of her head and slammed her face first into the wall. She reached out to him as she tumbled into darkness, but he merely cackled maniacally and slipped out the door. The last thing she heard before blacking out was his laughter echoing through the empty foyer.

.......................................................................

Harleen leaned against the elevator wall for support as she rode up to the eighteenth floor of her building. Her head was still pounding, and she probably had a concussion, but she just couldn't stand to be in that place anymore. The whitewashed walls, the smell of plastic and starched linen...she felt sick just thinking about it. The lock didn't jam for once as she entered the apartment, but Harleen shrugged it off as Fate smiling on her for once and lurched towards the bedroom, dropping items of clothing as she went. She crawled into her bed completely nude and closed her eyes. Just as she began to drift off, she heard a voice from behind her.

"Welcome home, Harley-doll."

Harleen bolted upright in bed and looked around frantically, just barely remembering to cover her naked frame. "Joker?" she shook her head, trying to clear out the sleep that threatened to overtake her. The room was empty.

"God, I really am going crazy." Harleen lay down on her back and stared at the ceiling. Suddenly, an all-too familiar painted face appeared, little more than an inch away from hers.

"Oh, not nearly crazy enough." He clapped a purple-gloved hand over her mouth, abruptly cutting off her attempted scream. "Sssshh-ssh-sh-sh-sh," he murmured with a smack of his lips, stroking her cheek with the flat of his knife. Harleen inhaled deeply through her nostrils and sighed into the lambskin glove. The Joker tilted his head slightly and removed his hand, simultaneously shifting the blade down to her jugular.

"What...do you want?" Harleen whispered. _Please_, she begged silently. _Tell me what I want—what I_ need—_to hear_.

"What do _I_ want?" he giggled. "I want what I always want—anarchy, chaos, and lots of it! And maybe a pony," he added with a grin. "But what I want at this moment—"he leaned in until Harleen could feel his breath on her face "—is _you_."

Harleen's breath caught as she stared into his eyes. Then she smiled. "You have me," she said. "I'm yours."

"Oh, I kno-ow that. But what I really want to know is, ah, which one?"

Harleen frowned. "Which what?"

"Which one of you, of course. You and your little dissociative disorder." He sucked on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "See, there's you, Harley Quinn, the one who would follow me to hell and back if I asked her to. The one who embraces her true nature. But then there's _you_," the Joker growled, smacking his lips together. "The 'good doctor'. The scared little girl who shrinks from the truth and won't admit to herself what she really wants."

"I want _you_," Harleen blurted, but as the Joker slid his knife against the corner of her lips, she instantly shrank into the pillows.

"Harley might," he trailed the blade across her cheek and down her throat, smiling as she shivered in a combination of fear and arousal, "but _you_ don't." He roughly pressed his lips to hers in a violent yet oddly chaste kiss. Her mind immediately shut down and Harley took over, knotting her fingers within tangles of green hair and pulling him closer. He grinned into her mouth and she took that opportunity to run her tongue lithely over those painted lips and they parted to allow her access, which she took eagerly. The Joker, for his part, allowed her to explore briefly before yanking her back by the hair and literally devouring her mouth, and as he bit down hard on her lower lip she could taste her own blood. He sucked it dry with a moan and shifted his weight to the side. Harley took advantage of the reprieve and began to fumble with the buttons on his vest, but the Joker grabbed her wrists and pinned them to her sides.

"Ah-ah-ah," he rasped. "Simon didn't say." He rolled off of her, stood up, and straightened his coat.

"What're you doing?"

"Things to do, people to torture," he sighed dramatically.

"But I thought..."

"That I came for you?" he laughed. "No. Not yet, anyway." He slipped his knife back into one of his many hidden pockets and disappeared out the door, leaving Dr. Harleen Quinzel lying in the darkness, very afraid and yet very aroused.


	4. I'll Be the In to Your Sane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker's sudden departure leaves Harley with only her dissociative disorder to keep her company, but he still has a few surprises in store.

.......................................................................

The next six days passed without incident—Harleen went back to work, despite the protests of her superior, and met up with Pamela and that new orderly, Dick Grayson, for lunch on Wednesday, despite the protests of her friend. She ignored their awkwardness in her presence; in fact she spent the entire meal ignoring them altogether. Instead, she scanned every man in a dark suit or overcoat out of the corner of her eye, silently willing one to turn around to reveal that familiar painted face. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder and she nearly leapt out of her chair in surprise.

"Are you okay?" Dick asked, taking his hand off her shoulder. "I didn't mean to startle you, but you've been staring into space for the last 20 minutes."

_Oh, I'm just daydreaming about the psychopath who broke into my room last night and then left without so much as an "I'll call you"._

"What? Oh, yeah I'm fine." She stood up and dropped some money on the table. "Look at the time," she said, not making a move to check her watch. "I'm late for my session with Mr. Crane." She nodded curtly at Pamela and Dick, who stared after her retreating figure in bewilderment. Harleen, for her part, didn't notice as she hurried towards the elevator and pressed the button for the 7th floor. She stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall as the elevator creaked into life.

"He's not coming back," she whispered. "It's time to move on. Get your mind out of the gutter, Harleen."

"He'll be back," her reflection replied with a smirk. "Just as soon as you let me out, Doctor." It giggled at Harleen's shocked expression. "And before you say it, no, I'm not a hallucination. I'm very, very real. All you have to do is prove that you aren't a snivelling little brat and embrace your inner anarchist, and he'll come for us both."

"No," Harleen closed her eyes tight. "Leave me alone."

The elevator doors slid open and she just about ran out into the hallway and strode right past her office to that of her superior. She waited patiently until he got off the phone and said, "I think I'd like to reconsider taking some time off."

Dr. Hugo Strange smiled. "What made you change your mind?"

_Go ahead. Tell him. Tell him you can't stand to be in this place without him, that he's like a drug and you can't even breathe when he's not around, let alone function—_

"Let's just say it's been a rough few days," Harleen replied. _Ain't that the truth, babe._

"How does two weeks sound? Relax, clear your head, and if you need more time, don't hesitate to call me."

Harleen nodded and thanked him before heading for the stairs. She sure as hell wasn't taking the elevator again.

_You can't get rid of me that easily._

"Shut up," she gritted her teeth and ran down the stairs to the staff parking lot. She didn't stop in her office; there was nothing there that she couldn't live without for two weeks. Not anymore, anyway.

_Couldn't have said it better myself.__  
......................................................................._

Harleen ran the water until it was as hot as it would go, stripped off her work wear, and stepped in. The barrage of scalding liquid on her skin was deliciously, mind-numbingly painful and she tilted her face up to the showerhead to embrace it. She let out a high pitched giggle, which soon progressed to full-on hysterics. The voice inside laughed with her even as they turned off the showerhead and wrapped herself up in a fluffy crimson bathrobe. She cleared the steam off the mirror and stared at her reflection. Her skin was as red as the robe she was wearing from the heat, and her eyeliner and mascara were smudged across her face in a cheap imitation of the Joker himself. She placed two fingers on her lips and smeared the remnants of her lipstick into a smile to match and sneered at the image in the mirror. "Come out, come out, wherever you are." She blinked and grinned into the mirror. "Harley Quinn," she whispered, and giggled softly. Suddenly there was a knock at the bathroom door, followed by the sound of lips smacking together.

"Can Harley come out and pla-ay?"

"It's about time," Harley Quinn replied, opening the door with a smirk.

"I could say the same thing."

Harley sniffed the air. "Why does it smell like burning?"

"Oh, I, ah, set your lab coat on fire." He licked his lips. "You were bugged. By the Bat-Man."

"How is that even possi—" The Joker slammed Harley up against the wall, his gloved fingers squeezing the last syllable out of her before she could finish.

"You know what? You...you ask too many quess-tions." He cackled maniacally and pressed the sharp edge of one of his many knives into the side of her mouth. "Now...what do you say we make that smile permanent?" Harley paled despite still being flushed from her shower and the Joker raised an eyebrow. "Whatsa matter, Harley-doll? Why ssso serious?" The knife began to cut into the side of her mouth and she closed her eyes, embracing the sudden onslaught of pain.

_We've been waiting for this_, she reminded herself. _Don't you dare back out now_.

He carved her right cheek and was just about to start on the other when Batman and Robin burst through the window. The Joker looked up from his half-finished handiwork and frowned. "Could you just gimme a minute? Come on I just need like thirty—hkk!" he was cut off as the Batman smashed him up against the opposite wall, causing Harley to slump down into Robin's waiting arms. She looked up at his face and gurgled weakly, "Dick?"

"Ssh," he replied. "I'm going to get you out of here."

"That eckshprains a rot," Harley mumbled through the blood. Her head lolled to one side and Robin laid her down on the bed.

"Gordon and his men are downstairs," Robin said, glancing out the window. Batman punched the Joker in the jaw once more, knocking him unconscious.

"Let's go," Batman growled in a voice that only masked the fact that he was really Bruce Wayne because the people of Gotham were too ignorant to figure it out. He and Robin slipped out into the night just as three of Gotham P.D burst through the door. The first officer took in Harley Quinn lying on the bed and inhaled sharply. "My...God..." he took his walkie talkie off of his belt and spoke into it. "Montoya, Get the EMS up here. Make it fast."


	5. Even If The Voice Are Not Real, They Have Some Good Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley ends up on the other side of the padded walls and decides to take matters into her own hands.

Harley woke to the harsh yet familiar glare of hospital lighting. The right side of her face felt completely numb. She lightly traced the spider web of black stitches that threaded up her cheek.

"He did quite a number on you, Ms. Quinzel." She turned her head to the left to find Commissioner Gordon sitting at her bedside.

_That isn't our name. Tell him to shut it._

"I think you mean Dr. Quinzel, Commissioner."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the right to a professional title revoked when one becomes a patient at Arkham?"

"Patient?"

"According to your superior, you requested a sabbatical yesterday, six days after refusing one. Less than 8 hours  
later, we apprehended the Joker in your home." Gordon leaned forward in his chair. "I don't believe in coincidences, Ms. Quinzel."

"You think I was expecting him."

"I think you were in contact with him, and I want to know how long your little tryst has been going on."

"Tryst"? _If only._

"Ms Quinzel, this will go much more smoothly for the both of us if you answer my questions."

"That's not my name."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. And this isn't an interview, it's an accusation. You actually think I could have just picked up a phone and called him?" _That certainly would have made things much easier._ "He finds you, not the other way around." She laughed. "You think you know him, but you don't. I do. I know why he is the way he is, the reason he blows up buildings and tortures innocent people. And do you know why I know?"

Gordon sat back in his chair. "Why don't you tell me why?"

"Because I listen to him. None of you ever listens to what he says. You write it off as psychotic ramblings, but it's not. It's the inner workings of the mind of a genius. You people don't understand. You don't want to understand."

_Excellent. Now push the little red button so we can get our drugs._

Harley did as she was told and was immediately rewarded with the flow of morphine into her veins. She closed her eyes. "We're done, Commissioner."

Gordon stood up from the chair and stared into her eyes. "Yes, I believe we are. Enjoy your padded cell, Ms. Quinzel." He tipped his hat and slipped out the door, leaving Harley alone with her thoughts. _And mine._

.......................................................................

 

"I was, uh, under the impression that I was going to see my dock-tor." The Joker smacked his lips together and leered at the young man across the desk.

"And so you have," Dr. Roscoe replied. "Now before we begin, I need to complete some administrative work. Apparently you previous case file was...misplaced."

"Yoooou...you aren't my doctor. My doctor has been locked a-way...the KKK took my baby away..." he hummed a few bars to himself. "...Or should I say the AA? Hee hee..."

"Full name please?"

"Harley Quinn. Or Harleen Quinzel, to you people." He gestured to the surrounding space. "I want to see her now. Please," he added with a grin.

"I meant yours," Dr. Roscoe replied, without looking up from his work.

"Tell me, does this psy-chol-o-gy work for you? Ignoring the patient until he finally breaks and gives you what you want?" The Joker got up, slid around the desk, and pressed the tip of his knife against Roscoe's diaphragm. "Because I've got news for you, doc-tor." He leaned in close and growled in Roscoe's ear, "I'm already broken."

.......................................................................

 

Harley was sitting cross-legged on the floor of her cell, her back to the door. The starched white fabric of her asylum-issued t-shirt and pants felt rough against her skin and she scratched at her right shoulder blade absently as she finished counting the cracks in the wall that faced her. She was just about to move on to counting those mysterious gray splotches when the door creaked open behind her.

"M-miss Quinzel? Y-you have, a, ah, visitor," The doctor stammered. Harley looked over her shoulder just as the doctor was shoved out of the way to reveal the Joker, who strode into the room and slammed the door.

"I'll just be a few minutes," he smiled humourlessly through the little barred window. He walked around Harley and sat down on the floor in front of her, blocking her view of the gray splotches on the wall. She frowned, which was followed by a wince as the movement pulled on her still fresh stitches.

"What are you doing here?"

"Didn't I tell you that you ask too many questions?" The Joker sucked his cheek thoughtfully and leaned forward, his face only centimetres from hers.

"I've been relocated to a cell with an electronic lock in the basement. Activated by the fingerprints of anyone who works here. And I need you—" Harley inhaled sharply at this, tasting faint traces of foxglove and gasoline "—to help me out."

"Of course," Harley replied immediately.

He grinned. "That's my girl."

"But how do I get out of—" She was cut off by the Joker's lips pressing roughly against hers and as his tongue slipped rather ungracefully into her mouth she felt something cold and metallic hit her teeth. She deftly manoeuvred it underneath her own tongue as he pulled away.

"3 days," he said, standing up and heading for the door. "Time's up," he yelled out the little window. "Come and get me."

Four orderlies entered the room on cue, quickly fitted him with a strait jacket, and escorted him out of the cell. Harley felt the small metal key under her tongue and smiled softly before returning her attention to the gray splotches on the wall before her.

.......................................................................

Three days later, Harley was creeping down the stairs to the lower levels of Arkham in search of the Joker's cell. She had taken out the orderlies upstairs without much trouble; size didn't matter much when you couldn't see what you were hitting. She had tucked the key back into a small inseam on her shirtsleeve just in case before heading for the fire exit.

Harley wandered the basement hallways aimlessly until she located the one labelled "UNKNOWN" and eagerly reached for the keypad.

"Hold it right there, Dr. Quinzel."

Harley turned to find Robin standing behind her.

"You don't want to do that," he said.

"Oh, I really think I do, Dick," she sneered back. She giggled at his shocked expression before spinning on her heel and pressing her fingertips against the matching prompts.

"No—" Robin lunged and ripped her hand off the pad just as the door swung open. They both peered into the dark room and jumped as the Batman swept past them. He scanned the cell for a second and then swivelled back to face Harley and Robin.

"WHERE IS HE?"

Robin seemed to shrink a bit in stature while Harley just shrugged. "How should I know? He told me to come and...oh."

"'Oh'?" the Batman growled. "What do you mean, oh?"

"That rat bastard!" she fumed, suddenly oblivious to the present company. "He left me as a decoy! Well you know what? He can go screw himself. I'm getting out of here!"

"You think so?" Robin smirked as the Batman apprehended her. "Because I think there's a nice cozy padded cell waiting just upstairs for you."

A few minutes later Harley found herself once again sitting on the floor of her cell. She sighed and leaned against the wall, careful to avoid those weird gray splotches. _I can't believe you fell for that!_

"I didn't hear you speaking up any," she retorted, closing her eyes.

_Fine. How about this: you're an idiot. You should have just used that key to get us out of here and left him to rot._

"You know I couldn't do that...wait a minute." Harley felt the key in the inseam of her shirt and grinned. "Come on," she told herself. "Let's blow this joint!"


End file.
